Let’s get one thing straight: “The Association” is a terrible name for a bar. It’s something a dyed-in-the-wool asshole would come up with, the linguistic equivalent of a popped collar. It’s not a coincidence that the fake-tanned tardonis from Jersey Shore calls himself “The Situation”, or that Boondock Saints director/weapons-grade douchebag Troy Duffy dubbed his entourage “The Syndicate.” Unless you are Fat Tony from The Simpsons, you do not get to go around naming things in this manner.

In 1988, my grandmother was gunned down by a guy calling himself “The Association.”  I don’t like to talk about it.

Anyway, the place is a speakeasy in a section of downtown where the speakeasies — The Varnish, The Crocker Club, etc — actually outnumber the regular bars. (It must have been fun to be an LAPD cop during Prohibition; all you had to do was go out to 6th and Main with a very large net.) Tucked away down a flight of stairs and through an unmarked doorway redolent of hot roast beef (from the unbeatable Cole’s French Dip adjacent), The Association manifests into a long, red-lit space flanked by private hideaway booths and one of the most well-stocked bars I’ve ever seen in Los Angeles. You look at all that booze and wonder if this is might be like one of those in-home libraries where some of the books are secretly fake.

The batrenders — a handsome bunch who look like their day jobs involve fawning David Geffen with palm fronds — know exactly what the hell they’re doing. The pisco sours, with the perfectly frothed egg whites, are some of the best in town. The French 75 — a potent, tangy-sweet concoction of gin, champagne, lemon juice and sugar — kicks like the artillery shell its named after. And they’ve got tall cans of Young’s Double Chocolate Stout, a liquid that creates joy and merriment wherever it goes.

You could get lost in here.

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WHAT: Downtown speakeasy
WHEN: Monday-Sunday, 7 PM – 2 AM
WHERE: The Association
$$$: $7-$10 a drink

Recently, some altruistic genius sat down and thought to himself: “What are the things that Angelenos love above all else? What common ground do we share in this sprawling multicultural metropolis of ours?”

Hmmm. Hauling ass in our cars around Dash buses that are going 11 mph and taking up two lanes? Sure, we all dig that.  Burning shit down whenever the Lakers win/lose? That’s something we can get behind. Rooting for each other’s failure? Yes, but mostly in Hollywood. Bitching about the lack of carpool lanes on the 405 like a fat guy who thinks that buying bigger pants is the answer? Hallelujah, we are one. But those are all surface traits. If you really want to dig deep into what unspoken bonds unite as brothers and sisters in the City of Angels… then I have four words for you.

Outdoor movies. Food trucks.

And starting this weekend, the good people at the Outdoor Cinema Foodfest will bring those two timeless LA infatuations together. All summer long, they’ll be screening classics like The Big Lebowski, The Breakfast Club, Pulp Fiction, and The Princess Bride (as well as The Hangover, for anyone who wants to get their drink mickey’d by that movie’s legions of backwards-white-baseball-cap-wearing fans), all while serving victuals from such mobile luminaries as The Grilled Cheese Truck, Canter’s, The South Philly Experience, and Nom Nom’s.

This Saturday they’ll be showing Swingers, one of the all-time great love letters to this town, that rare movie about a flash-in-the-pan subculture that still remains funny, poignant, and truthful for years (sixteen years, oh my God) after its release. Insert “you’re so money” joke here.

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WHAT: Outdoor movies + food trucks
WHEN: Saturdays, all summer, doors open at 6:30
WHERE: Grand Hope Park
$$$: $8

The Ahn Joo Korean fried chicken truck made its splashy debut outside the Los Angeles Film Festival this week, and I was totally going to go check it out, but then I realized that would put me in close vicinity with people willing to pay money and stand in line to see mumblecore movies. Eff that noise, Jack.

Luckily for me, OB Bear exists — and this place, besides having a fun name to yell repeatedly, is manna from heaven for those who like it hot, crispy, and spicy-sweet. This is where Ludacris, the guy who named an entire album after chicken and beer, is going in the afterlife if he behaves himself. It’s that great.

Tucked away between the lovely pocket-parks of Southwestern University Law School and the anarchic bustle of Vermont/6th Street, OB Bear’s exterior resembles a dive-bar and the interior is somewhere between the set of “Cheers” and a pirate ship — all wood paneling, cherry-red lighting, dark leather booths and shadowy corners, with a secret attic dining-area upstairs. There’s a faint tinge of cigarette smoke in the air, and you get the idea that this might be one of those clandestine K-Town after-hours spots where the closing-time is as lax as the anti-smoking regulations. The booths have buttons in them that you can push to alert your waiter when you need something, because they sure as hell are not going to come to you (World Cup’s on, bitchez.)

The basics: cheap pitchers of Korean beer abound (go with Hite or Cass; OB Blue is secretly Bud Light, I’m convinced of it.) The kimchi is cold and fiery, the sugary-vinegary pickled radish cubes make a perfect counterpoint to the later proceedings, the cabbage salad would be refreshing if not for the overabundance of a vaguely Korean-fied thousand-island dressing. The vegetable pancake that arrives complimentary with main courses comes off like a thin, subtle, more graceful version of a latka. (Do not order the seafood pancake; it’s a slab of egg, undercooked veggies, and “krab” meat that’s the size of a throw pillow and half as tasty.)

But about these wings…

I know there are some of you out there who swear by Kyochon. I, too, was once amongst your ranks. Those small, crackle-skinned bombs of soy sauce and hot garlic flavor are undeniably excellent. But what OB has over Kyochon is A: it doesn’t make you feel like you’re in a glorified Wendy’s the way you do when you sit down inside the latter’s sleek, sterile, multi-franchised confines; B: their kitchen-time isn’t slower than a mid-90’s dial-up connection in an Uzbekistan outpost, and C: when the menu says “spicy”, it means fucking spicy. The wings come out billowing steam, dusted with sesame seeds and coated in a sizzling orange-plum glaze that sticks to your fingers like tasty napalm. The outside is crunchy, the inside is tender, and by the end of it, you’ll find yourself sucking bones like you were… I’m gonna stop that joke there, my mom reads this blog.

Trust me on this — you’ll never eat another buffalo wing again.

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WHAT: bad-ass Korean fried chicken joint
WHEN: Seven days a week, open from 6 until ?
WHERE: OB Bear
$$$: $12-$17 a plate (each plate serves 2-3)

The Venice Beach Carnevale will not be televised. Nor will it actually be held in Venice; apparently, tonight’s hedonistic costume contest/dance-party/annual gathering of LA’s freaky people has somehow gotten too insane for the uptight streets of Venice Beach and has been moved to a secret location around Jefferson/Sepulveda. (If this were a grindhouse movie, the announcer would now solemnly intone: “It‘s a party so wild they had to move it to Culver City… where life is cheap!”)

Ok, let’s take a step back and think about this for a moment — how, exactly, does one get kicked out of Venice? Have you been there lately? You could walk around with a severed head and tourists would still ask to take pictures with you. Last time I was hanging out on the boardwalk, a guy in a leopard-print vest and bootie-shorts tried to sell me some meth, as well as (I am not making this up), a live, 5-foot python. Anyway so now I’ve got all this meth and a live python and my friends no longer like to come over. Point that I’m making here, people, it takes a lot to get your ass 86′d from Venice Beach. This event deserves your consideration.

Will there be a full-size intergalactic pirate ship known as the Space Wench to gallivant around? There will be. Will there be floor-shaking beats from the likes of Fatfinger, Todd Spero, and divaDanielle (who I’ve pimped so many times on this site, people are are going to sooner or later think I’m involved in some kind of payola scheme?) Bet your ass. Will there be a masquerade costume contest that lands somewhere between Salvador Dali and Eyes Wide Shut? Most definitely. Will there be a certain amount of public nudity? Yes ma’am. Will there be acrobats and fire performers and go-go dancers? What do you think this is, the Republican National Convention? (Ok, bad example.) Just remember to come in costume — “exotic and erotic attire encouraged.”

And if you want to get in, RSVP here today to get the address and final details for tonight.

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WHAT: Carnevale masquerade party
WHEN: Saturday June 5th, 8:30 PM – 3:30 AM
WHERE: Culver City (RSVP to get address)
$$$: $15 (or $35 for VIP/open bar)

Apparently, the glee-club nerds grew up to be sexy.

Meet the Silverlake Chorus — a choir group described by its founding member Sam Rader as “warm-hearted Angelenos gathering to create harmonies aplenty while wearing oversized glasses and skinny jeans.” They’ve got no backing band, no choreographed dancing, no Broadway showboating  — but what they do have are lush, all-vocal covers of indie staples like Beck and Regina Spektor (and for all five of you who saw MacGruber, that was them singing the opening theme.) They’re making their splashy debut this Friday at El Cid. Good times are sure to be had by all.

Joining the plethora of talent onstage will be underground stalwarts Alex Lilly (Obi Best), Joaquin Pastor, Pi Jacobs and John Gold. Also performing (and producing their upcoming album) will be Ben Lee, the demon responsible for such Up-With-People-by-way-of-Guantamo-Bay atrocities as “I Love Pop Music”, and  “I’m A Woman Too.” This man needs to get got. However — we cannot hold that against the group at large. Get out to El Cid, people. Gleefulness awaits.

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WHAT: The Silverlake Chorus
WHEN: Friday, June 4th, 8 pm
WHERE: El Cid
$$$: $10

Because what’s more punk rock than romping around the notoriously kitschy redwood forest themed bar, Bigfoot Lodge? Hanging out in an alley contemplating disestablishmentarian notions you say? Poppycock! (Or perhaps you’ve simply become bored that your only other social options on Tuesdays are being stuck in Hollywood, pretending to be pretentious. Bleh! That’s not punk rock at all!)

Starting this Tuesday, Some Nerve, the new bi-weekly punk rock n’ roll themed night invites you to take a few hours off from your anarchy planning to go have fun dancing around with Smokey The Bear while drinking cheap Colt 45. They’re on special (when are they not?) along with other drinks sure to unleash your wilderness rock monster. The various music providers of the evening (commonly referred to as “DJs”) include Helleion, Jacob Safari, and TNT, along with the roaming photographic stylings of Shadowscene, so don’t forget to get that studded leather jacket and mohawk in tip top shape!

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WHAT: Some Nerve punk rock n’ roll party
WHEN: Tuesday, June 1st – 9pm – 2am
WHERE: The Bigfoot Lodge, 3172 Los Feliz Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90039
$$$: Free!!!

Many people in Los Angeles seem to forget about their friendly neighbors to the north: the San Fernando Valley.  Dubbed as the “Porn Capital of the World” as well as a “Black Hole of Sadness”, the 100+ degree Summers and 90+ degree everything else’s makes this community of postage-stamp-sized cities kind of inhospitable.  I’ve spent the past three years surviving the Valley, and actually think it’s a pretty alright place.  I now see it as my duty to pass my knowledge and know-how of this Los Angeles suburb onto you, the faithful BoredLA reader.

Trust me.

Our first stop in this series is the Copper Bucket, located on White Oak and Vanowen in Reseda.  If you’re reading this, chances are you’re a poor college student.  This bar is for you.

Despite looking like a prime place to get stabbed, the crowd is usually always friendly with a mixture of older folks and college students.  The main selling point of the Copper Bucket is how cheap the drinks are:  $4 for a mini pitcher (32 oz.), $2.75 for most well drinks (which are paradoxically strong), $4-$5 for most everything else.  18 holes in Golden Tee is $1.50 and a game of pool is 50 cents.

Why are the drinks so cheap?  My theory is that this establishment is lost in time.  What time, you ask? 1996.  All night long, the jukebox plays 90’s alternative.  Reel Big Fish follows Sublime follows the Wallflowers.  Somebody tried to play Rihanna’s Rude Boy, and everyone just shuffled around awkwardly until it was succeeded by Radiohead’s Paranoid Android. In that same mid-90’s vein, the place seems like my 12-year-old self’s dream of what adulthood is like with electronic dartboards, a huge shuffle board table, and other various videogames littering the bar haphazardly.  All in all, the bar feels like a scene from an ABC Family made-for-TV movie.  An uplifting one.

Ultimately, this bar is what you make of it.  The cheap alcohol, cozy atmosphere, and abundance of games just make it easier to do here than most other places.  For this reason, The Copper Bucket is best enjoyed with a large group of friends.  Kicker: the music is at a reasonable enough level so that you can actually have a conversation.  Take that, ultra-posh DTLA nightclubs.  We can talk to our friends in the Valley.

I’ve learned in my time at the Valley that you can’t ask for too much from anything.  It’s too hot here, everything is either uphill or downhill, QT’s Chicago Dogs on Reseda and Parthenia closed down, etc.  So when you find an extremely cheap, unintentionally 1990s themed dive bar, appreciate it.  Appreciate the hell out of it.

WHAT: Cheap bar in the Valley
WHEN: Website doesn’t state, but they’re usually open until 2 AM
WHERE: The Copper Bucket
$$$: Usually from $2.75 to $7.50 (CASH ONLY)

The Shangri La Hotel in Santa Monica has been keeping secrets from us. For years, its hidden rooftop bar, Suite 700, was only open to guests; this was, of course, back at a time when people had “money” to do things like “stay in hotels” and “not eat sandwiches made of actual sand.” (Apparently, the place had an outdoor group shower going on for a while, a prospect which made me wonder if Joe Francis had secretly incorporated the hotel into his empire of douchery.)  No matter — as of this week, Suite 700 has thrown open its doors to the unwashed masses.

The inside is nothing special — obscured color-lights, “Miami Vice” bad-guy furnishings, half-decade old Justin Timberlake songs pumping on the stereo, short-backed chairs that make you so uncomfortable they could have been designed by Andy Kaufman, a halfway decent dirty martini – but the outside deck is the joint’s saving grace.

Go at sunset and you get a gorgeous view of the coast, with Ocean Ave traffic slowly melting into the ant-like procession up the PCH.  Go after dark and watch the neon-flashing rungs of the Santa Monica Ferris Wheel glow like a distant dance-party.  The wood-burning fire pit will send you home smelling like a campfire, lending the whole experience an “Entourage meets Boy Scout Camp” kind of feel.  (Now there is a show I would watch, mainly to confirm certain suspicions I have about men in their 30’s who still live together.)

Suite 700: more fun than watching The 700 Club while high.

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WHAT: Rooftop bar in Santa Monica
WHEN: 5 – Midnight, 7 days a week (later on weekends)
WHERE: Shangri La Hotel
$$$: Between $8 and $10 a drink

If ever you’ve wondered what would happen should the coy, kittenish call of the feminine psyche were exposed, and displayed; pulled and prodded in every which way, screws and nails sent to do the dirty work of holding it all together, today (errrr…tomorrow) is your lucky day.

Edgar Varela Fine Arts has a new home and, true to their audacious nature, are opening with a bang.   Ashley Gibbons’ Coquettish Modernisms is, by words of the artist: “…a soft space with fabric to provoke hard dialogue…to explore issues of sex, intimacy, female form, function, style, and gender roles.” Layers upon layers of these intimate menageries (aka: panties!) are revealed to “…highlight and personify the dichotomy of a woman’s role”, while also “convey(ing) mood, priority, and function to the individual woman.”

In simple terms: frilly fantasy and modern individualism have collided into something you can admire, talk about, and buy while mingling with other hot-headed artistic types such as yourself.  Oh, and there will be wine.  The yummy, organic, FREE (my favorite!) kind.

Exhibiting a mix of established as well as up-and-coming artists, you might know EVFA from their previous location (just a hop, skip, and a jump from the Little Tokyo Arts District), if not for their creatively imposed art/music-related events.  With years of expertise and a natural flair for knowing what people want, visiting EVFA means you are just as likely to run across a scruffy Eastsider you’ve seen play the El Rey as you are the CEO of an entertainment company.  Either way, you will meet those you would like to meet again, listen to music you wish you could Shazam, and be surrounded by artwork you may just be able to rationalize purchasing with this month’s rent money.

Be there or be square.

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WHAT: Coquettish Modernisms by Ashley Gibbons
WHEN: Wednesday, May 12th, 5pm-9pm
WHERE: Edgar Varela Fine Arts: 102 W. 5th Street, LA 90013
$$$: FREE (But…bring your rent money, just in case)

Do you ever find yourself getting nostalgic for stuff that never happened to you?  Be honest — when the song “American Woman” by The Guess Who comes on your car radio, do you imagine yourself in 1971, cruising along in a t-top Camaro with summer winds blowing through your feathered hair? Do you watch Mad Men and secretly long for a day when it was appropriate to drink multiple martinis at work? Ever seen an old gangster flick and then wondered about the logistics of buying a Tommy-gun? (Spoiler alert: they’re legal!)

If you answered “yes” to any of those, have I got the place for you: The Cicada Club, a frozen-in-time throwback to the swing era, situated in the art-deco sumptuousness of the Oviatt Building on Olive St. This place has a 1940’s ambiance so all consuming, it renders time machines obsolete.

Originally built, according to the website, in 1928 as a “top-of-the-line haberdashery” (no doubt the envy of all those other wack-ass haberdasheries frontin’ up in the 213 at the time), the club features live big-band music every Sunday night, a sprung-wood floor populated by some of the most graceful swing-dancers you’ll ever lay eyes on, and a gin menu that could make W.C. Fields weep in ecstasy. (They also do a fixed-price dinner, but it’s A: reportedly not that great, B: overpriced at $50 per person, and C: requires you to interact with the Cicada waiters, who I generally found to be grouchy ass-clowns.)

My advice: skip the food, grab a sloe-gin fizz, and find someone to swing with. It doesn’t matter if you’re any good; I have houseplants that are better dancers than some of the people out on that floor. (In fact, some of those people’s names rhyme with “Me.”) But that’s the wonderful thing about this place — it’s utterly egalitarian. The crowd ranges from early 20’s to late 60’s; black guys in Andre 3000 outfits rub shoulders with white dudes in pin-stripe suits and Asian girls in evening gowns. Even the 12-piece orchestra is delightfully all over the map, featuring someone who looks like a well-fed old rabbi on the bass, a young fella in a do-rag on the clarinet, a heart-stoppingly beautiful redhead trumpet player, and a Morgan Freeman lookalike for a front-man who I believe possesses the most genuinely joyful smile I’ve ever seen on a human being.

Keep in mind: the other thing that truly unites the crowd (besides a love of all things post-war) is the dress code. Cicada Club requires a jacket/tie/dress shoes for guys and evening gowns for gals — dress like you were going to The Edison, in other words. And remember, the next time you find yourself wishing you were alive in an era when the drinks were two-fisted, the music was big, the dames were classy and the guys were… well, off fighting Hitler for the most part — this is the place you come.

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WHAT: Ultra-immersive 1940’s swing-dancing club
WHEN: Sunday nights, 6PM – 11 PM
WHERE: 617 South Olive Street
$$$: $10’s at the door, $8-$12 a drink

In the great pantheon of Films From The 80’s That You Remember Fondly But Have No Idea What Actually Went On In Them, it’s hard to beat Flight of the Navigator.  (The Dark Crystal and that one where Kurt Russell sexually exploits an amnesiac are also high scorers.) The touching tale of friendship between a boy a spaceship that looks like something David Bowie might use as a vacation home has had remarkable psychological staying power for anyone born in the Reagan era. And this Sunday, anyone who wants to indulge some childhood nostalgia has a perfect excuse — the environmental fund-raising group Who Will? We Will! is doing a screening of Navigator at Cinespace in Hollywood, and every dollar they make plants a tree for the Global Releaf program.

You can RSVP on Facebook here, the first 50 people in the door get free popcorn. Plus, there’s a full bar, to help you deal with the fact that you’re watching a movie about a spaceship voiced by Pee Wee Herman who won’t let you pee in privacy. (”I don’t leak, you leak.  Remember?”)

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WHAT: Charity screening of an 80’s kiddie-classic
WHEN: Sunday, May 9th, 5:30 PM
WHERE: Cinespace
$$$: $10

One of the hallmarks of a great LA restaurant is that they have hours designed to piss you off.  For example, at some point in time, Bay City Deli reached into a hat and picked out “Mondays” as the day they were going to close for unnamed reasons. Yuca’s on Hillhurst has no actual hours of operation and exists in a state of utter anarchy. Langer’s opens at 8 AM (for all those craving deli-meats and coleslaw for breakfast) and closes at 4 PM (because, well, fuck you.) It’s bad enough to make bankers look at these guys and be like “Damn, when do you actually work?”

But all these places have one thing in common: a transcendent culinary experience — and in that proud tradition comes Cliff’s Edge. This hidden Silverlake gem proves once and for all that joints like The Varnish and The Roger Room don’t have the game locked when it comes to “awesome places with no signs.” You’ll drive by three times before you see it — a nondescript tea-green bunker on the corner of Sunset and Griffith Park. You enter a tall wrought-iron door in the back of the parking lot and immediately find yourself on an idyllic, multi-tiered wooden deck built into the face of a cliff (hence the moniker) and surrounded by mini-forests of bamboo.

As for the brunch menu: the eggs benedict is divine, the pumpkin ravioli perfectly spiced, and the spicy ahi tuna tartare — chopped with fresh mango and served atop a bed of seaweed salad — engages every type of taste-bud on your tongue at once in perfect harmony. But the guilty secret of Cliff’s Edge is definitely the fries with the gorgonzola dipping sauce — pungent, creamy, and vaguely redolent of red onion amidst tiny hunks of green-veined goodness. You’ll sit back and sip a blueberry Stoli Italian soda, and watch sunlight dance amidst the leaves, and slowly forget that any other outdoor restaurant ever existed in this city.

But ah, here’s the rub: it’s only open during the day on weekends. I ask you — what kind of cruel, sick, depraved joke is that? You’ve got this restaurant that is second to none when it comes to blissful al fresco-ness, and yet only has daylight hours twice a week? ARE YOU PEOPLE OUT OF YOUR MINDS? VAMPIRES SEE MORE SUN THAN THAT! Ok, fine, if Saturdays and Sundays are all we’re getting, that’s all we’re getting.  We’ll manage.

Somehow.

Pass the sauce.

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WHAT: Unparalleled outdoor brunch
WHEN: Only on weekends from 11-3 (because God hates us)
WHERE: Cliff’s Edge
$$$: $10-$15 a plate

Let’s say it’s 5 o’clock. You’re just getting off a hard day of work as a rag-picker or reality TV assistant or whatever, and you want nothing more in the world than to go somewhere quiet and drown a few sorrows.  My advice?  Forget antiquated concepts like “beer“, or “cocktails“, or “ambiguously legal muscle-relaxants you bought from that guy outside the Texaco.” You do actually want to drown your sorrows, yes? Not just give them a lukewarm bath? Then I have three words for you: absinthe happy hour.

Every day from 5-7 at Bar Noir, inside the fabulous boutique Maison 140 Hotel (their slogan: “opulence can come in small packages” – a line I’m going to start using with the ladies), they’re hosting an event known as L’Heure Verte, which is French for “Oh my fucking God, how the hell am I drunk, it’s only 5:15?” For these two hours in this vaguely Asian tea-room style setting, bartenders will demonstrate the centuries-old serving ritual associated with this 100-proof green alcohol.  Each glass will only run you $5; those savings will come in handy when you need bail.

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WHAT: Absinthe happy hour
WHEN: Every day, 5 – 7 PM
WHERE: Bar Noir
$$$: $5 a glass

Culver City is decadent and depraved! Well, no, that’s not entirely true, it’s actually kind of New Jersey suburb-ish and really rather pleasant… but on May 8th, there’s an underground festival going on that will set those earlier words in stone. That’s when the Mystikal Misfits, a hardy tribe of LA-based Burning Man fanatics, are throwing COLLECTION! – a dance party that promises such high levels of giddy debauchery, anyone who hopes to someday have a political career should avoid getting photographed there.

There will be mysterious cocktails.  There will be fire-dancing. There will be adorable, scantily-clad boys and girls running around in “Mad Max” gear and neon fur.  There will be a giant Twister board, for those of you who need a socially acceptable reason to get in compromising positions with aforementioned adorables. There will be amazing house and electro DJ’s, headlined by DivaDanielle tag-teaming with Todd Spero, spinning the kind of beats that will later have your doctor admonishing you to include less funkiness in your diet. There will be an aromatherapy booth, and classy dames selling cigarettes (not in the aromatherapy booth.) It’s being held at Mission Control, adjacent to Jefferson Ave and the 405, the exact building address of which is being kept under wraps until the night of the party — RSVP on the Facebook page to get all the details.

Culver City will never know what hit it.

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WHAT: Underground Burning Man dance party
WHEN: Saturday, May 8th, 9PM – 4 AM
WHERE: Mission Control
$$$: $15

Are you already feeling nostalgic for The Specials’ triumphant comeback performance at Coachella last weekend (or are one of those poor souls who missed it entirely, because you couldn’t afford a ticket/had other plans/were actually at Coachella but were busy having a mescaline-fueled existential meltdown inside a Port-a-John?)  Fear not — because Friday nights at La Cita are all about the Punky Reggae Party.  Housed in slow-slung joint with brothel-like lighting and arguably the sweatiest dance floor in downtown, La Cita’s weekend start-up shindig is where you go when you want to unashamedly skank to some Madness, Fishbone, The Sex Pistols, Sister Nancy, and of course, our dearly reunited Specials.  If the word “penance” can be used in relation to anything this much fun, consider it penance for all those terrible third-wave ska-punk albums you bought in the mid-90’s. (Get there early, this place fills up fast.)

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WHAT: Punky Reggae Party
WHEN: Friday Nights, 9 PM-2 AM
WHERE: La Cita
$$$: Free before 11 PM, $5 after

You’ve been staring at that little box on your calendar that reads “Sunday, April 25th” with a wish in your heart that just keeps nagging for an excuse to break out that can of aqua net, glitter tights, and those fun vintage 80’s clothes lurking in your closet that you haven’t quite had the nerve for yet. Taint that pure churchy glow that you were prancing around all day with by going to La Cita downtown for Erotic City! This week they’re having a live performance from Josie Cotton who will be performing her classics from the Valley Girl soundtrack along with some new material. Every week they have $3 brew, $4 well drink specials and entry is free, but be sure to RSVP.

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WHAT: Erotic City with Josie Cotton
WHEN: Sunday, April 25, 9:30pm – 2am
WHERE: La Cita Bar, 336 Hill Street, DTLA 90013
$$$: FREE all night long

Ron Robinson, Fred Segal, and FILTER magazine invite you to shop in style this Saturday, with music, drinks, and pizza at the Fred Segal store on Melrose. Who doesn’t love music, drinks, and pizza-especially together? Scratch that; who doesn’t love music, drinks, pizza, and a free limited-edition screen-printed t-shirt? Nobody, that’s who. Shannyn Sossamon (the hot girl from 40 days and 40 nights) will bring the tunes, Original Penguin will bring the duds; the first 25 people to make purchases will get a $25 gift card. RSVP to Sharon@Ronrobinsoninc.com

WHAT: Original Penguin Spring Fling
WHEN: Sat. April 24 3-6pm
WHERE: Fred Segal, 8118 Melrose Ave
$$$: free to attend

This Sunday (TONIGHT, love), whether you are attempting a rather leisurely comedown from the weekend desert madness or, rather, to make up for the fact that you may have just missed the best concert of your life, rest assured, I have just the cure.

Guaranteeing the latest of Vampire Weekend greatness, Miike Snow remixes, and a few oldies, but goodies (Joy Division-style), the completely FREE White Bunny Disco event is invading (the upstairs lounge of) the Mountain Bar in the best way possible.  Just south of your eastsider roots, park easily on Broadway or Hill and follow the red paper lanterns to feng shui central (aka: Gin Ling Way).

Situated within one of Chinatown’s oldest restaurant-turned watering holes, expect ladies & gents exhibiting a diverse mix of artistic fanfare, original and reasonably-priced drinks (heavy pour alert!), dancing delight inspired by resident djs Knyfeprty and J Man, and only the best in party photographers to, naturally, capture it all on film.  Beware of the melting walls, possible restroom confusion (“G” is for gentlemen, NOT girls, yo), and be sure to end the night respectively with some walnut shrimp at the night-owl friendly Full House Chinese Restaurant (open ‘til 3am), located just within stumbling distance.

See?   Bunnies after Easter really aren’t a faux pas after all.

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WHAT: White Bunny Disco
WHEN: THIS Sunday, April 18th 10pm-2am
WHERE: 475 Gin Ling Way (& Bamboo Lane) in Chinatown
$$$: FREE all night long

Seriously.

Put the name brewery and art in the title of any event and I’m there, no questions asked. Of course, a few extra details never hurt anyone, right?  Plus, I’m not 100% sure you’re convinced yet and hey, I’ve got your back.

Here goes:

The Brewery Art Walk is a twice-annual (Spring & Fall) open studio weekend event for the 300 or so artists who work/live/play here in the world’s largest art colony (ummm…yes, please) to exhibit and sell their creations to the public (you!) at lower studio prices.

The Brewery Art Association was in fact, at one time, a PBR (Pabst Blue Ribbon, for those of you living under a rock) brewery and bottling plant.  While, unfortunately, no PBR is currently being made here (ridiculous, I know), they could possibly be selling it or, if not, I am sure all you resourceful chaps have figured out a way to satisfy your liquid cravings on your own anyways (i.e.; bring your own). Nevertheless, this event is completely FREE, parking is FREE (nearby lot is provided by UPS), and you have the opportunity to purchase amazing, one-of-a-kind pieces while supporting your local art community.

Pick up a 6’ red stiletto sculpture or one of the aluminum steel Angry Dog and Shark functional art tables, compliments of contemporary/abstract metals master, Bruce Gray. Should those not be your cup of tea (or can of PBR), there will be an endless supply of original jewelry, photography, books, and other artistic inventions you never thought you needed until now.  If you have a few extra bucks, be sure and pick up a little something from the kids at the Barnsdall Arts: Ragan Art Academy booth and support local children’s art education programs.  Oh, there’s also an on-site bar/restaurant (Barbara’s at the Brewery) as well as a few art-friendly food vendors to keep you appropriately fueled (and sober, if need be), plus… a couple of food trucks lingering in the distance too.

In a nutshell:

(Reformed) Brewery + Art = FUN.

I’ll be there and you should too.

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WHAT: Brewery Art Walk
WHEN: THIS Saturday & Sunday, April 17th & 18th, 11am-6pm
WHERE: 2100 N Main St. (& Moulton) in DTLA
$$$: FREE unless you buy something

This week’s Bored & Thirsty is a different sort of animal than you’re likely used to. Week

after week, we see bars and clubs across this great city of ours, and really, there’s only so many variations on that theme. Sure, there are some great variations – Footsies, Jumbo’s, El Cid  - but let’s not forget about some of the other ways to get your drink on.

Among them, one of my all-time favorite drinking engagements: the time honored tradition of getting housed at a Dodger’s game. Now I’m not a sportshead (Hoorah for points, I guess!), but this is something different. Situated near Mt. Washington on the east side of town, Dodger Stadium is like our city’s Mt. Olympus. On a good night you can see a 360 degree panorama, and there’s something spectacularly captivating about walking into the bright-white lights of a stadium at dusk, drink in hand, about to get down with doing the wave with tens of thousands of your like-minded Los Angelenos.

The drinks are standard, and pricey as hell. Beer (only) on draft or in a can (promptly poured in a plastic cup) run from $8 all the way up to $13 (YIKES, you guys – let’s cool it with the ridiculous prices, k?), and admission is $12 for the shittiest seats, so you’ll  have to save a little for a night of sporting, but let’s me tell you: it’s freaking worth it. Because nothing says summer like peanuts and beer. And yelling “Charge!” everytime something important happens (like I said, I’m a total sports nut).

Here’s a little tip: you’re not allowed to bring your own booze to tailgate. No tailgating! Or rather, DON’T GET CAUGHT TAILGATING – DOUBLE WINK!

It’s all about singing the Star Spangled Banner, it’s about garlic fries (the perfect compliment to getting wasted, I assure you), it’s about being bright outside until 9 p.m. It’s about participating in Los Angeles, not just being a resident. This is like an annual initiation, and you’re not officially enjoying summer until you go and quench your boredom and thirst.

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WHAT: Baseball and brews.

WHEN: Throughout the summer!
WHERE: Dodger Stadium
$$: $12 entry, $10 beers… dare I suggest: pregame.